


leave a message, i'll get back to you later

by Swimfasteatass



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, DISCLAIMER peter doesnt die, Depression, Hospitals, Panic Attacks, Peter Has Depression, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sad, Self-Loathing, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, its just, self-hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-10-04 09:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17301785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swimfasteatass/pseuds/Swimfasteatass
Summary: “Earlier today, the New York police department was alerted to a homicide in Manhattan. Authorities came to the scene to find the body of the twenty-three-year-old murder victim, mother of two, Selena Mazelli. The victim died from a gunshot wound to the head. The estimated time of death was roughly around three thirty in the morning. No arrests have been made but an investigation is currently underway. The CCTV footage we’re about to show you was taken from the pub across the street. It shows the known vigilante, Spider-Man, leaving the scene around the predicted time of death. Investigators aren’t releasing whether or not they think the beloved hero was responsible for the crime but they plan to release a statement later in the day. CBS2’s Ali Bauman, live at the murder scene with more details.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning! Please proceed w/ caution.

 

_“Earlier today, the New York police department was alerted to a homicide in Manhattan. Authorities came to the scene to find the body of the twenty-three-year-old murder victim, mother of two, Selena Mazelli. The victim died from a gunshot wound to the head. The estimated time of death was roughly around three thirty in the morning. No arrests have been made but an investigation is currently underway. The CCTV footage we’re about to show you was taken from the pub across the street. It shows the known vigilante, Spider-Man, leaving the scene around the predicted time of death. Investigators aren’t releasing whether or not they think the beloved hero was responsible for the crime but they plan to release a statement later in the day. CBS2’s Ali Bauman, live at the murder scene with more details."_

 

___

Peter had been swinging around New York City for the last half an hour. No matter how far he went or how many streets he turned down, he couldn’t get away. Even when he was halfway across the city and perched five hundred feet in the air, it was like he could still hear the sirens blaring in his ear, like they were _next_ to him. He could still hear the scream for help echoing, the shot, the heavy ‘thump’ of something falling lifelessly onto the ground of a dirty city alley.

 

I _couldn’t save her._

 

It was with one hundred percent certainty _completely_ his fault. He could blame it on the fact that he didn’t think it through. The woman had a _gun_ to her _head_ and the web-slinging ‘hero’ (or as he’d been calling himself lately, your friendly neighborhood idiot) thought it’d be a fantastic idea to try and reason with the gunman. He hadn’t anticipated him to pull the trigger as soon as Peter took the smallest hint of a step forward, even with his spider sense zapping down the back of his skull. He assumed he’d shoot Peter. Not her.

 

Watching the murder unfold was one of the most gruesome things the teen had ever seen. He felt nauseous then, to the point where he stumbled backwards while clutching his stomach. He felt nauseous _now_. It was like god decided to give him a giant, ‘fuck you’, and was hitting the rewind button every five seconds so that Peter had to mentally rewatch it, over and fucking over again.

_If I didn’t step in, she might’ve lived._

 

The more he thought about it, the more his chest tightened up. If he hadn’t been there, if he didn’t royally fuck up, there was a chance she could still be alive. Whoever she was. God, he didn’t even know her _name_. She could’ve been a mother- he grew up without a mother, who was he to rip someone else's away from them? A sister. A daughter. From what he saw, she looked fairly young. Older than him but maybe not by much.

 

She had a life and if he wasn’t there she could’ve had a chance to live it. He didn't even get the time to catch the asshole who murdered her. He was so focused on _her_. On rushing to her side in an attempt to asses the damage, trying to tell himself that she was going to live. That she was going to be okay. She had to be. If he just put pressure on the wound, maybe-

“Peter.” He heard the soft voice coming through the suit. He didn’t respond. _He couldn’t_. He felt like he was suffocating. His breaths were way too quick, way too shallow. His hands were shaking as he pressed them against the eyes of his mask, doing his absolute best to hold it all together as the scene replayed for the twentieth time. There was a moment of silence before Karen tried again.

 

“Peter, you need to breathe. Take deep breaths”

 

Breathing. That was important. Tony had told that him before, the time he woke up from a nightmare. Deep breaths through his nose, hold it, out through the mouth. When he’d done it then it worked. Ironaically, he'd been dreaming about this exact fucking situation. Someone dying because of him. In some fit of twisted poetic justice the dream became a reality. Deep breaths wasn’t cutting it. He tried, really, but no matter the pace he felt like he wasn’t getting enough air. Or any air.

 

“Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?” Karen asked when Peter hadn’t responded. The offer to call Tony snapped him out of it, even if just for a moment. He opened his eyes to glance down in the corner of the visual input screen. His vitals weren’t exactly reading as _good_. His heart rate was way over his average BPM, and his oxygen intake wasn’t looking too great either. Right under it, the time was displayed in a smaller font. It was four in the morning. He didn’t want to wake Tony up.

 

_Or disappoint him._

 

He shook his head, speaking despite the fact that his tongue felt dry and heavy. “No.” He said shakily. “No thanks, Karen. I just… I kind of want to be alone right now.” He was hoping that was a good enough excuse. It wasn’t a lie, either. Even the reassuring voice of Karen was a bit much for him. Which is why he mumbled something about giving him a minute and slid the mask off.

 

It was cold.

 

When the mask was off, the winter air stung his face. He would’ve blamed the wind for being the one to make him tear up. He didn’t need to. He could admit to himself he was sad.

 

He didn’t even know he was crying until he looked down at his feet as they danged over the side of the building. Below, the lights of the cars and street lights blurred together into one giant, ‘fuck I’m about to cry’ soup in his vision.

 

 _The scream. The shot. The thud._ It still continuously looped through his head like some shitty Instagram video that froze on your feed and won’t stop playing the audio to. Except instead of making you want to throw your phone across the room for playing the Del Taco vine for the sixteenth time in a row, this replay made Peter want to throw himself off the side of the building.

 

_That wouldn’t be such a bad idea._

 

Peter warily gazed at the ground below him, using the fabric of his mask to wipe at his eyes. It didn’t take an AP physics class to know that falling from this high would kill an average person without a question. The force would crush the body, inside and out. There was a small wince at the thought. It didn’t sound pleasant. But to be fair, neither did getting shot point blank in the head because some dumbass teenager screwed up.

 

Once the thought was in his head, it overstayed its welcome. It gnawed at him, digging a pit in his stomach. And the longer he thought about it, the more he couldn’t help himself from sobbing. He’d been crying before, but he was full out sobbing. _He is the reason that woman died._ She was dead because of _him._ What a fucking hero he was, huh? His nails weren’t long, but through the gloves of his suit, he was digging the blunt nails into his arm hard enough to leave bruises. It was an attempt to ground himself, but it failed miserably. He needed to get a grip. Honestly. Movies, what did they do in the movies when this happened? Their families. They'd think about their family. 

 

His mind grazed the thought of Uncle Ben for a second, but he quickly shoved that thought out and locked the door behind him. 

 

_P_ _ositive, Peter, you're trying to be positive. Not think about someone else who died because of you._

 

 

Aunt May would be heartbroken if he was gone. _Or relieved, considering how much money it cost to take care of me._ Ned wouldn’t have anyone to build legos with, or anyone to watch out for him at school. _He could find someone else._ And what about Tony? Tony told him himself, if anything happened to Peter he’d be a mess. He recalled that conversation pretty vividly, the day he’d off-handedly mentioned his depression to his role model. He said he’d always be there for Peter, no matter what. Whenever he needed to talk. He’d appreciatively but awkwardly promised Tony if he was ever feeling down enough to do something, he’d give Tony a call. The sobbing slowed for a moment at the thought.

 

He eyed the phone in his pocket. He didn’t want to bother him.

 

But if he, and at the moment it was a big if, did go through with this, he wanted to say goodbye. He couldn’t just… leave without an explanation. He couldn’t do that to Tony. And most likely Tony would be able to talk him out of it. The night would end with the two on the couch, watching some shitty sci-fi movies from the ’70s. Everything would be fine.

 

Four rings in, and he was starting to rethink that.

 

It was at the _“You’ve reached the voicemail of Tony Stark. Leave a message, I’ll get back to you later”_ that the empty feeling in his stomach started to grow, almost throbbing.

 

He almost laughed at how professional Tony sounded in the recording. The last time he’d heard a recording of the man, he’d been telling homophobes that he likes to suck cock. He’d miss that.

 

There was a beep from the other end, signaling to start the message. He didn’t even know what to _say._ He wasn’t prepared for this. He hadn’t rehearsed. He pulled the phone away from his ear, looking down at the phone. It’d already been recording his silence for seven seconds. “I don’t know what to do.” Peter started. There was an attempt to even his voice out, but it wasn’t working well. He sounded hoarse, probably from the crying he’d been doing. “I-I couldn’t… She… I’m so sorry.” He lost whatever control he had over his voice at that moment, a hand going up to his eyes to wipe at them.  “I can’t do it, Tony, I can’t. I didn’t- I fucked up, and I just… Y-You told me to give you a call when I was feeling down, so I… I’m sorry. If you get this message, call me back. Love you.” The voicemail ended quickly.

 

The second voicemail he gave Tony was more… put together. He’d given it a few minutes, to think, collect his thoughts. He wouldn’t say he was calm, but the sobs had stopped wracking his body. He just felt the tight squeeze around his heart, the squeeze that _hurt_ physically and emotionally. And he was more sure on what he was going to do this time around.

 

“Hi, Tony. ‘S me. Again. Peter.” He said, taking a shaky breath as he kicked his legs against the side of the skyscraper. “I’m sorry for calling you again, I was just... I was just hoping you picked up. You’re probably asleep. That’s okay, though, you need it.” There was a forced laugh from his end. “I just- I just want you to know you mean a lot to me. No matter what happens, you helped me so, so much, and… I’m… God, when you’re actually trying to get the words out, it’s ten times harder.”  Another small, broken laugh. “P-Please just… Please just remember that. How much you mean to me. And… Aunt May, too. I couldn’t call her. I can’t. I don’t know if that makes me selfish, but I don’t want her to worry, or blame herself for not.. For not being able to do anything? I don’t want you to blame yourself either, but... Could you tell her I love her? Everything about her. Her cookies are amazing. And I appreciate everything she’s done for me, even though she hasn’t always been in the best financial situation. She’s so strong.” He could be heard sniffling, taking a deep breath. “There are so many things I want to say but I can’t. About you, about May, Steve, Ned. I’m sorry. I’ll try to call you back in a few minutes.”

 

The last voicemail is shorter than the other two. He’d been calling one last time, in hopes that Tony would answer. He wasn’t planning on saying anything. Talking hurt too much. He knew Tony wouldn’t answer, he was asleep. He’d settle for the next best thing. He just wanted to hear his voice message one more time. After the rings, he heard it, and he clung onto every word Tony said. _Leave a message, he’ll get back to me later._ Then the beep.

 

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He squeezed his eyes shut, sucking a breath in through his nose. He didn’t know what to say. It was going to be the last thing he said, he was aware of it. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he said slowly. “For being there for me when no one else was. This isn’t your fault.” He nodded to himself. That sounded good, right? He couldn’t leave it there, though. The seconds ticked by, and Peter sat there. Quiet. He couldn’t fucking end it there. There was so much left to say, but if he didn’t hang up now he didn’t know if he ever would. There was another quiet ‘I love you,’ before he hung up.

 

He would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t wait a few minutes with the mask on, hoping for the familiar ACDC ringtone to blare out through his phone. Hoping for Karen to tell him Tony had gotten news of the situation and was coming, because he was too afraid to ask her to get him himself.

 

There was nothing.

 

Peter sighed, softly, slowly pulling himself to his feet. The tone of his AI grew increasingly concerned but he tuned her out. He’d fallen off buildings before. He was Spider-Man. The only difference was this time, he was ready for it.

 

With that, the spider took a deep breath. And another. In through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth. Then, he jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he not dead but idk if i'm gonna make the next chapter. if i do?? it's gonna be fluffy as fuck.  
> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE COMMENT YOUR OPINIONS IM TAKING HIS FEELINGS FROM MY OWN EXPERIENCE AND I just!!! Want to make sure im doing it right and if i should continue.


	2. Chapter 2

 

God fucking damn it, he was almost a thousand percent sure that he _hadn’t_ set an alarm for three in the morning. Yet, here he was, groggily coming to consciousness with the shrill beeping playing throughout the bedroom’s speakers. Go figure, the one time he manages to sleep for more than three seconds and he gets woken up at the asscrack of dawn. Not even dawn. Even the sun wasn’t idiotic enough to roll out of bed yet.

 

Tired and more than slightly annoyed, he rolled over and firmly planted a pillow over his face to block out the sound. “FRIDAY, two hours. Two hours of sleep. For the love of god, can you turn that noise _off-_ ”

 

“It’s Peter, sir.”

 

Cue the annoyed huff. “He set an alarm for _three in the morning_? What a little shit-”

 

“There was a distress signal sent from Peter’s suit. He’s severely injured and needs emergency assistance.” The AI cut Tony off.

 

Wow, way to make a room feel heavy. All it took was that one sentence for the anxiety to start to racing up his throat. _Keep calm._ With a deep breath he pulled himself out of the bed to get suited up. _Fuck, why was the kid out this early anyways?_ A million and one thoughts were already running through his head, half of them pouring out of his mouth in a series of rapid-fire questions directed towards FRIDAY.

 

“Can I talk to him?”

 

“He’s unconscious, sir.”

 

 _Of course he is._ “Injury report?”

 

“Broken ribs, broken bones, spinal injury, internal bleeding-”

“Okay, okay. I get the picture.” He snapped, the mental image flashing through his head.   “Get the med bay ready for ten minutes.”

Keeping calm wasn’t playing out as easily as he expected. His hands were starting to shake, he _knew_ they were, but he pushed that aside and focused on _getting there_ first.

 

He asked more questions, covering the basics. His location wasn’t too far away. The data from Peter’s suit was worrying. According to FRIDAY, Peter hadn’t even gotten into a fight in the moments before he went down. His injuries were sustained from fall damage.

 

_Peter fell somehow._

 

Immediately, the worst case scenario that popped up in his head was that his tech failed. A scene of Peter going to swing and the web shooters malfunctioning flashed across his eyes, and he visibly winced at the thought. Tony double checked, no, he _triple checked_ that everything was working as best as it could be before he let Peter even see the suit. And if it wasn’t working, the suit had protocols and safeguards that’d kick in. It would’ve shown failure in the data, too. There was none of that, he checked.  

 

“Pull up the footage three minutes before the kid went down,” Tony mumbled as he zipped across the city. Peter’s suit’s footage popped up in the corner of his screen.

 

What he saw made his heart skip a beat.

 

_That would’ve been a high fall._

 

Tony’s heart was sinking deeper and deeper into his stomach as the scene flickered to life in front of him. Something about seeing the layout of the city from Peter’s perspective made him nauseous, knowing the beautiful view wasn’t going to last long. Even if the only immediate danger was the four to five hundred foot drop he was looking down at.

 

For a kid who literally flung himself off buildings for fun, he doubted that would’ve slipped and fell. He would’ve been able to latch onto something, with his webs _or_ his hands. He made sure to check the data for the second time, he hadn’t gotten any system alerts for web shooter failure.

 

Which lead him to the conclusion that something had to have brought him down. Right? He scanned the footage for any external threats as the seconds ticked down. The first two minutes had been almost identical with Peter staring at the streets under him. Then to his phone. Back to the streets.

 

The more he had to wait to see the outcome, the more the anxiety was boiling in his stomach. Forget shaking hands, his heart was hammering in his chest. Forty-five seconds left, still nothing. Forty. Thirty.

 

_Still no signs of an external threat._

 

Twenty-five seconds in is when Peter dragged himself to his feet.

 

 _Maybe his senses were telling him to get out of dodge?_ Not once did Peter look behind him, he wasn’t scanning for any danger. He backed up, two three steps.

 

_Fifteen seconds._

 

There was a pause. His vitals were rising again.

 

_Ten seconds._

 

To Tony’s horror, Peter jumped.

 

If Tony didn’t know that this ended with an unconscious teen laying in the bottom of a New York alley, he would’ve assumed that Spider-Man would’ve started swinging off towards the other side of Queens and went on with his happy little night.

 

 _So what went wrong?_ There wasn’t anything that pushed him.

 

The boy spiraled towards the ground with no signs of slowing down. One thing that caught his attention is that Peter should’ve caught himself by now. He should’ve webbed on to something. He didn’t, he just kept falling. And falling.

 

When Peter’s hand did reach into the frame to shoot a web, it was too late. The web had barely latched on to the adjacent building when Peter slammed into the ground.

 

Maybe the tension had been able to lessen the force of the fall a little, but not by much.

 

_Why the hell didn’t he web onto anything?_

 

Tony had a vague suspicion he knew why he chose not to, remembering one of the conversations they had not too long ago.

 

_Don’t think like that. He wouldn’t do it on purpose._

 

A few more seconds of the video played before it cut to black. Just in time, too, because he arrived on the scene.

 

Seeing Peter fall had been horrifying, but _actually_ seeing the kid’s broken figure made breathing hard.  Whatever air was around him was _not_ properly finding it’s way to his lungs as he landed next to the spider.

 

If there was an autopilot mode for humans, Tony slipped into it. He remembered staring while the overwhelming dread came over him, but he didn’t remember making the choice to kneel next to the wall-crawler. Hell, he didn’t even notice he’d been muttering reassurances until he figured out the voice talking was _his._

 

Peter couldn’t hear him, but that didn’t stop him. Even when Tony figured out he was the one who’d been talking, he didn’t stop. He kept on telling Peter it was going to be okay, he was fine. He even tried to squeeze in a small joke about how he was going to be in deep shit for being out so late on a school night. A small laugh passed, but it didn’t sound genuine. It sounded shaky. Rightfully so, too.

 

_Tony was honest to god scared._

 

He had faith that Peter was going to be fine physically. The kid healed remarkably fast. He was strong. What worried him was if Peter was going to be fine mentally. Genius or not, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. The hesitation to web himself, the inconsistent vitals. The talk they’d had a few months back-

Getting too caught up in his thoughts, Tony shook his head. Emergency at hand. Dying kid. Right. _Push the panic attack aside for now, jackass._

 

He snaked his arms under Peter, hoisting him up. Movement caused a pained groan to come from the other.

 

“Sorry, kiddo. This is going to hurt like hell.” He said in a low tone, tightening his hold on Peter before he took off. He couldn’t exactly go slow, but he consciously tried to handle him carefully. The last thing he wanted was to make anything worse.

 

\---

 

They wouldn’t let Tony in the room while the medics did their job. It pissed him off. If there was one thing that drove him nuts it was not knowing _what_ was going on. Still, no matter how much he argued, they had him sit outside. He sat in those god-awful back killing chairs.

 

_Note to self, buy better chairs._

 

He’d been told that they’d let him know when he could go in, and maybe he should lay down.

 

_Fuck that._

 

The anxiety he had over the whole situation was making it clear he wouldn’t be able to sleep for at least another ten years. Maybe that was a _bit_ of an exaggeration, but it’s what it felt like. Cheers to ten years of eating straight caffeine and Red Bulls. A long, prosperous life was sure to await him after all the inevitable heart failure.

 

He’d been staring at the wall for a good ten minutes (which, by the way, also felt like another ten years), his foot continuously tapping at the floor.

 

_This sucked._

 

What was going to suck even more, though, was the call he knew he had to make to May. Oh, that wasn’t going to go down pretty. He didn’t even know what to say.  ‘ _Hey, Ms. Parker. Your son just flung himself off a building. He’s in critical condition. Are we still on for Sunday night dinner?’_

 

Okay, he knew that wasn’t how to word it. Still, he had to call her, and he had to call her soon. No point in waiting. He shook his head, pulling his phone out for the first time all night. It took him a moment to focus on the notifications that popped up on the lock screen.  

 

_Peter P._

_Voicemail_

 

_Peter P._

_Missed Calls (3)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey-o! like i said please please comment it means the WORLD to me. especially because i don't write very often but??? deadass you guys who comment are the reasons why i made a second chapter. and why i might make a third chapter
> 
> ALSO i have literally never actually written tony like this before??? so i'm so sorry if it's shit. enjoy this, though!  
> [Edit: 3/14/19- currently in the process of writing the third chapter. I've rewritten it three times. It's a hard one.]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I admit, this isn't going to be the best chapter. I'm kind of excited for the next few chapters, bit this one was super hard to write. It was something really emotionally taxing for me, considering I'm pulling completely from personal experience. I might edit it a few times after I post it, but if I don't post it now it's going to be something I'll put off for another month. So! Thank you!

It felt like a dream. Not the type of dream where you’re standing in a room that’s melting around you or presenting in front of the entire school naked, it was more the type of dream where you could  _ feel _ it. Everything was slow. The dream where your limbs feel heavy and if you tried to run it’d feel like you had twenty thousand pounds weights clamped on to your ankles. 

 

It wasn’t a dream, though. Rule numero uno of dreaming, you didn’t feel pain. But here he was, feeling like Santa Claus himself decided to run him the  _ fuck  _ down with an extra eighty reindeer. 

 

The jolly bastard.

 

He was in a strange limbo where he was comfortable, but he also felt like the epitome of shit. On the comfort side, he was warm- he could tell there was a blanket or two wrapped around him and tucked in firmly. He was still tired. The semi-good type of tired, though. You know, that pure exhaustion you feel when the alarm rings at 5:30 on a Monday morning. Except there was no alarm, and no pressure to get up, which was always a blessing in itself. 

 

On the not so comfortable side, something didn’t feel right (besides the near-overwhelming ache of every cell in his body exploding.) The more he was able to shake the sleep off, the more his senses dialed in on his surroundings. He could hear the murmur of the TV in the background. Beeping. Lots of beeping, actually. The sound of something shuffling next to him.  And the smell, god, it reminded him of the time he jammed a crayon up his nose and had to be carted off to the emergency room. That memory was always sparked whenever he walked through the double doors of any doctors office or hospital- 

 

_ Oh _ .

Peter’s eyes shot open to the dim room around him. He was thankful it was dim, his head was pounding with the start of a headache and he didn’t need any bright hospital lights digging directly into his cornea. He blinked once, trying to focus more on the shapes around the room. His vision was blurry at first from waking up which prompted a few extra blinks, but eventually, he could begin to make out the layout of the room. Definitely a type of hospital. Not the drab New York hospital he’d been brought to for the one-hour-long removal of a certain Robin Egg Blue stick of wax from his nose. No, this place wasn’t suffering from years of wear-and-tear and a shit budget.  Even still in a haze, he could pick up on the familiar sleek high tech layout of the machines. 

 

_ Why was he in the med bay? _

 

Memories were there alright, but piecing them together was what proved to be challenging. It was hazy. His thinking was  _ slow _ in the most frustrating way. Falling. Karen. Gunshot. He didn’t have time to mull more of the broken memories over, because there was a hand that  _ wasn’t _ his brushing against the back of his own hand, and became was painfully aware that he wasn’t alone.

 

Turning his head to the side of him, the part of the room that he neglected in his observation of his surroundings, his eyes landed on the person who’d pushed themselves out of the bedside seat presumably the minute Peter’s eyes shot open.

 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, his voice barely a whisper. Water. He needed water. His throat was dry and it hurt like every other inch of his body.

 

“The one and only,” Tony replied in a quiet voice, a thin smile spread across his face. “How’re you feeling, kiddo? You took a pretty nasty hit.”

 

He hadn’t expected for his stomach to lurch the way it did when he heard his voice. 

 

_ You’ve reached the voicemail of Tony Stark. _

 

Everything came rushing back. Every memory he’d been scrambling to fine in the last minute and fifty-three seconds of consciousness was flooding back.

 

He didn’t know whether or not the sudden wave of nausea was from the memory of him almost  _ killing himself  _ or if it was the fact that he knew Tony listened to those voicemails. He had to have. He heard them, and  _ he knew what happened, _ and it freaked him out. He’d be mad. Or disappointed. Oh god, if he told May, her heart would be  _ broken. _ He was going to have to live with that guilt.

 

Guilt. He couldn’t get enough of it. 

 

Of course, he only had more to be guilty about. It didn’t take all of Peter’s brain power to register the man in front of him looked like absolute  _ shit. _ Dark bags trailing under his eyes, a half-assed, fresh out of bed hairdo. Tony sported the ‘just rolled out of bed’ style with grace, being Tony fucking Stark and all, but he knew the only reason he wasn’t dressed in anything other than the Pink Floyd shirt was because he’d probably been worrying out of his mind.

 

_ About him. _

 

He was a  _ dick _ for this, for all of this, and he wished there was an easier way to just  _ not exist. _ One that didn’t include traumatizing everyone he loved. 

 

There was a thousand questions he wanted to ask, a million thoughts he had, and a billion emotions pooling in the pit of his stomach. Too much. Instead of handling this rationally like the way he wanted to, he froze. There was an overload. Kind of like the sensory overloads he’d have every once in a while, but instead of the lights being too bright or the car being too loud there were too many emotions and his thoughts were screaming at him to  _ do  _ something.

 

But what do you  _ do  _ when you nearly kill yourself?

 

How can you  _ face _ anyone after that without losing it?

 

They didn’t teach you this in school, or at decathlon practice, and he hadn’t thought about this being the outcome before he stepped off the building. Even when he webbed himself last minute. He didn’t fucking know what to do.

 

It was amazing Peter didn’t throw up then and there. He may have lucked-out on not dumping the contents of his stomach into his role models lap, but he was not-so-lucky when it came to the fact he was undeniably crying and on the verge of his second biggest panic attack in his entire life.

 

It was too much. Way too much. He brought the palms of his hands up to his face, as sore as his arms were, and he dug them into his eyes to get himself to get a fucking grip. 

 

Luckily, Tony knew what to do. He was jumping into action as soon as he saw the signs, a gentle hand running through Peter’s hair.

 

“Pete, kid, you gotta listen. Take a deep breath, alright? You’re okay.” He heard Tony saying. How long had he been talking? 

 

“I’m sorry,” The kid croaked out, his voice still hoarse. “I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Stark-” Tony’s hand was back on his own hand, tugging it away from his eyes. Peter took it and he squeezed. The medicine must’ve dulled down his super strength because he was using a good amount of force and Tony wasn’t wincing. 

 

That or Tony was just hiding the pain. Just like he was trying to hide his own oncoming panic attack.

 

“It’s okay,” Tony said softly, but it was easy to tell his own voice was wavering. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. You’re not in trouble.”

 

“You’re going to hate me,” Peter choked out, tears already streaming down his face. It was one of those emotionally fueled adrenaline rushes where he spit out the first thing that came to mind. “I fucked up. Really bad. I- I can’t, I-”  

 

He was stopped mid-sentence by a pair of arms gently wrapping around him. A hug. He didn’t know how much he needed it until it was happening. 

 

It wasn’t a magical anxiety erasing spell, but it made everything so much easier. Everything hurt, but the warmth the hug brought him had him melting into Tony’s arms, his head lifting up an inch from the pillow so he could deliberately bury his face into Tony’s shoulder. He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, he was just pushing out a stream of muffled and barely intelligible apologies as Tony held him close. 

 

And god, was Peter ugly crying. It wasn’t any of the soft, sweet tears he’d seen in cheesy romcom movies. It was full on, body-wracking sobs that tore through his throat, out his mouth, and rang in his ears. If he’d been able to watch this from a third person view, he’d probably be ashamed with how pathetic he looked right now. 

 

But he didn’t  _ care. _ He couldn’t think to care.

 

It felt so good, having someone  _ there _ . Someone he trusted. Someone who cared. Someone he could hug, even if it may have been a bit of a bone-crushing hold (Medicine or injury-induced weakness aside, Peter still had a tight grip.)

 

They stayed like this for what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes. Peter’s sobs turned into sniffles. The hands that probably left finger-sized bruises on the other’s back loosened their grip. It wasn’t that he was over it, it was just that he’d managed to exhaust himself entirely in the first ten minutes of being awake. 

 

He was breathing steadily. Tony had been talking him through it, telling him it was going to be okay. Reassuring him. Peppering in a sweet but very Stark-esque joke every few seconds. Granted, he hadn’t been listening the whole time, but when he told him to breathe he was all ears.

 

In through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth. A few times of repeating that, and he was able to think. Not as clearly as he would’ve hoped, but clear enough. Enough to process the fact that he was  _ tired. _

 

In more than one way.

 

Emotionally tired. Physically tired. Tired of the anxiety that was still thumping in his chest, but luckily waning.

 

“Why don’t you get some rest? You need it. When you wake up we can talk about this, alright?” He heard Tony say, the other picking up on his sleepiness. The web-slinging dumbass looked like he was about to pass out any second.

 

Was it the medicine or the fact he just sobbed for five minutes straight?

 

Who knew.

 

He wasn’t going to argue.

 

His head wasn’t even back on the pillow before his body decided to flip the off switch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes okay so that was a shit show. If you have any suggestions, please comment them. I have a general gameplan with how I want the next few chapters to go, which is gonna be f u n in the angst department. more hospital content, more comfort, hopefully therapy. and uh, police. yikes. anyways tony is his dad now. thank u next
> 
> please please please please comment
> 
> i want to know what you think. like i said, completely pulled from personal experience so having people read this and give me feedback is something that just feels good.
> 
> i dont write often so!!! yeah. peace, love, stay safe, i promise you im never giving up on this fic it just takes me a month to update this bastard child of words.


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